The Hardest Decision
by Mournstache
Summary: Sherlock AU: Sherlock is a Timelord. He doesn't realize it, but Sherlock has everything he's ever wanted in life. Multiple interesting murders, a number of people that consider him their "friend," and a trusty flat mate that would go with him wherever he goes. But what if he has to set this all aside for the life he had in the first place?
1. Prologue

**Hi guys! This is my first attempt of a fanfic… Probably suck, but if you're interested in the story, and you aren't satisfied with my writing, kindly tell me in the reviews, criticisms accepted. It's not beta-d (but if you want to you could always PM me) and it's also not translated to the British way of saying things. (I don't know what do you call it, sorry) Anyways, on to the story! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or ANY of the characters. Also if this story is any way **_**similar **_**to that of another story, then it's a total COINCIDENCE because this just randomly popped out in my head without reading any fanfics (at the moment) having this plot or any particular event.**

Four bodies, covered in white cloth, lay around the room. A lady moved around from body to body, and was not afraid of the corpses around her at all, for she was used to dead bodies, even organs, at most. No, this is not a crime scene, it's a morgue. Four bodies, covered in white cloth, lay around the room. A lady moved around from body to body, and was not afraid of the corpses around her at all, for she was used to dead bodies, even organs, at most. No, this is not a crime scene, it's a morgue.

She wore a lab coat above a white shirt and trousers, her brown hair braided and sat on her right shoulder. She scanned each and every one of them, unveiling each of their pale faces and consulted her clip board. It held the identity of the four deceased people within the room, and she used it as a guide to distinguish which is which.

It was a quiet night here in the hospital she was working in. Most people would think that the environment would be rather spooky or fearsome, but she continued the task at hand. Her night shift is ending soon, and it would be better to finish all the work in the night.

At last she finished naming all of the corpses, adding white boards with their names on them just below their feet. And just in time, her digital watch started to make soft beeping sounds. And when she checked it, it flashed "23:00" in red lines. She left the morgue after double checking if everything is completed.

She opened the double doors, and looked at the window ahead and gasped.


	2. Chapter 1

**Technically, this isn't a Doctor Who and Sherlock Crossover, since I won't be using the characters from Doctor Who, just the point that Sherlock is a timelord… So yeah… Also if you wanna know, Mary isn't part of the story… At least, I'm not yet planning anything… But if she will appear she will be OOC.**

**Anyway, here's chapter one of The Hardest Decision. Enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, Doctor Who or ANY of the characters. Also if this story is any way **_**similar **_**to that of another story, then it's a total COINCIDENCE because this just randomly popped out in my head without reading any fanfics (at the moment) having this plot or any particular event.**

A man is currently leaving St. Bartholomew's Hospital carrying nothing but a bag full of human organs and hopes to manage his experiment to prove his point, or probably just to show off. With a smile on his face, he swung the entrance door open, thrilled to finally get home and to test his theory. He wore a coat, with his collar up, above a purple shirt and dress pants. He had a blue scarf, to protect himself from the chilly weather. Black socks inside black shoes were in his feet.

Not too far behind him, was a woman rushing forward, trying to catch up with his pace. The girl wore casual clothes and a lab coat and her hair up in a ponytail, her face full of fear. Whatever the reason, it must've concerned the man.

"Sherlock!" She cried. He finally stopped, turned around, his eyebrows shot up in question. "Sherlock," the girl repeated, panting as she tried to catch her breath. She forgot to use the lift, since she was in a hurry. "It's time." She said.

Sherlock responded, "Well it is time, Molly. Time to go to your date!" He deduced within seconds that she was in fact heading for lunch with her fiancé, Tom. But despite him throwing off her warning, she remained indifferent, as she was used to this kind of treatment from him. "No, Sherlock! They're coming. They found us!" She said. Whatever Molly said didn't scare Sherlock, for he had absolutely no idea what was she talking about.

"Who found us? What are you going in about?" He asked, starting to believe that his friend has gone mental. After three flights of stairs, and the objective to reach a person whose pace is twice as fast as yours, it wouldn't be a surprise that you will be left gasping for air.

"The Daleks, Sherlock. They finally found us! I don't know how or when but I saw them last night in the morgue, they weren't moving but they're here!" she replied.

"You must've been starving, Molly. Whatever you're talking about is none of my concern, but night shifts are over-doing you; you're losing three pounds. Remind yourself to eat a heavy dinner while on night shifts, to avoid further hallucinations." He said, smiling and turned around, leaving her behind.

Of course, she wouldn't let this happen; their lives depended on it. "Of course it's your concern, Sherlock, you've got to understand!" She tried to catch up again, stopping in front of him, blocking his way. Sherlock was about to make a retort when Molly continued; "I was worried you're about to find out sooner or later, since you're a genius, but that watch was really doing its work-"

Finally cutting her off her rant, he rolled his eyes and said, "What are you talking about? But if you really want to know, my watch is really working, see?" He pulled up his left sleeve and showed his wrist to her, revealing a digital watch showing the exact time; ten past nine in the morning. "Helps me get through the whole day right on schedule! Now if you will excuse me."

He shuffled sideways, trying to get through her, yet she was so determined to let him hear her out. She followed to the direction of his feet. He went to the left, she went to the left. He went to the right, she followed. After a few attempts, he gave up, saying, "Hmmm, you're obviously not going to let me through." He sighed. "Fine, I will listen, but do tell me later? I might be late for Mrs. Hudson's tea. She makes tea in the morning involuntarily, and she claims she's not our house keeper. I have to examine these, too." He flashed the bag he held, which contained the organs of the deceased. "If you want to catch up on your date and me being able to complete my work, I suggest that you be a sweetheart and make that wait until tonight?" He said that as a command, not to suggest. But she obliged, and made an agreement, upon where and when will they meet.

"Good! 221B it is. See you later, Molly," he said, finally walking past her, leaving her anxious and worried. But since she had no other option, she walked back into the hospital, leaving a mental note that she has to go to Baker Street at six o' clock in the evening. Sharp.

Sherlock Holmes took a cab back to Baker Street, thinking about what his friend was talking about. But after a few minutes of pondering on this subject, he decided to drop it. Besides, it's a complete waste of time and he will find answers sooner or later. He then thought about the experiment he was about to do. He was very much indulged in his mind palace that he didn't notice that he was in his destination. If it didn't take John to go down from their flat and tapped the glass window he was leaning on, the cabbie would've been brought him elsewhere.

He got out and went inside the comforts of 221B Baker Street. He heard a faint voice coming from John that said, "So I'm going to pay for the cab, am I?" He didn't respond, going up the flight of stairs two steps at a time. He went to his table and got to work. He stared down the telescope as his flat mate came in the room, scowling at him, waiting for him to acknowledge him, but no avail. He cleared his throat, and yet he was still frozen in his position. John finally let it go, and went back on his chair by the fireplace, reading the newspaper.

This was the typical scene every day in this flat. Sherlock minding his own business while John tries to catch his attention, fails miserably, and does something else to pass the time. It's goes like this 50% of the time, but the other half was spent solving crimes. They were always with each other, everyone knew this. And because of that, everyone suddenly assumes that they were a couple. Of course, John Watson would be extremely baffled by their deductions and instantly blurt out, "I am not gay!" Sherlock Holmes, however, kept quiet, not minding their remark. This made their skepticism stronger.

This, of course, didn't bother Sherlock, for this is what he actually wanted. It may seem one sided on his part, but he wouldn't leave his emotions astray simply because John doesn't feel the same. He was fully aware that sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, but he did his best to keep this away from his mind. Maybe it was dangerous, but he knows himself very well, and once something started within him, it continues to grow until it leaves a mark, either in the mind or heart. He knows that shrugging it off will make it worse. So he just let it be, as long as he could keep this under control. This emotion is the only one that left a mark in his heart, and he made sure of that.

Out of the blue, Sherlock asked, "Molly has been ranting earlier about 'Daleks" and someone finding us. What do you think, John?" This surprised him; he hasn't heard anything from him for the past few minutes.

"I have no idea," he replied. Whatever he said didn't ring a bell. After he finished reading the news, he got up and searched for his laptop. When he retrieved it he sat back on his chair and surfed the web, especially this particular website he goes to whenever he and Sherlock had no whereabouts or any case to solve.

Time flew fast; hours seem like seconds for the two, since they were both occupied with different things. As the clock struck six, the doorbell rang. Of course, this wasn't heard or noticed by Sherlock since he stuffed the speakers in the fridge. Mrs. Hudson answered it instead. A girl greeted her, the same one that warned Sherlock about someone, or something, following them. She wore the same clothes she had earlier, for after work she hailed a cabbie straight to their flat.

"Good evening, Molly. Sherlock's up stai—" She was cut midsentence as the girl rushed through her, into the narrow hallway, up the stairs, and into the door that lead to the flat of the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. She scanned the place, and her eyes landed on the man with his eyes glued on the microscope. She dashed towards him, almost knocking off a cylinder and started to rant.

"Sherlock you've got to listen to me! You're not what you think you are you're not human! You're not—"

"Molly, calm down. One thing at a time!" Sherlock said, stopping Molly immediately. Interested by the happenings John decided to clear his history (since Sherlock's been snooping in his laptop again) and closed his laptop, placing it back in where he got it. He may be facing away from the kitchen in his position; he had both his ears in where Sherlock and Molly were, hoping to hear something interesting.

"Sherlock," she said slowly. "You aren't a human."

"Of course I'm not human, Molly. Ask John yourself." Sherlock suggested, pointing at the man in the other room, fully aware that he was listening to their conversation.

"Well yes, he isn't." John supplied, earning a smirk from Sherlock, since he was proven right about his deduction. If ever he was wrong he would've asked him to repeat. But he didn't need that; he heard it straight from the horse's mouth. "Not human at all, knows nothing about human nature. You should know everything about him; you've known him longer than I did."

"That's not the point!" Molly said, exasperated with what they said. "I'm not talking about _who_ you are, Sherlock! I'm talking about_ what_ you are! If you say you know nothing about human nature then fine, let me rephrase that. You're not human in both personality and being!" Sherlock was about to mute her out temporarily but was greeted by a great slap from the girl. "Listen to me, Sherlock! I know you don't believe me but just this once, you've got to listen!"

He decided not to go against it, for it might be the last thing he will ever do. So he let the woman explain, and with that, John fully brought himself in the conversation, sitting across Sherlock by the kitchen table, this of course didn't bother Molly. All she needed was to let him know what he needed to know, no matter what the consequences.

"Sherlock, there's this life form from another world called Gallifrey," she explained calmly, earning questioning looks from the two, yet she continued. "Those are called 'timelords'. Their name is basically their description; the lords if time. And you are one of them."

"This is absurd, Molly. I've never heard such species in my life. I would research about them but sadly it isn't my area and this information would be useless so I suggest that you leave."

"Fine, you don't believe me? Well explain why don't you remember _anything_ about the solar system?" She taunted.

"That's because I had to delete stuff in by head, Molly. An average head like this is too simple for all the ideas I need to store in my brain," he responded.

"But that's humanly impossible! Well, you're not human anyway," she muttered the last sentence. "Admit it, Sherlock. No, John!" She turned to John. "Admit it, do you think that anyone could forget _something _in their brains without even remembering it later or leave some tiny bits of information from it? I mean come on, be practical!"

He thought for a bit and said, "No. No, it's not. He's the first person I've ever heard of that could do that."

"Oh come on, John. Whose side are you in anyways?" Sherlock asked. "Ordinary people can't do this," as he said this, he earned a dirty look from John. "You know what I mean! But of you want to know; Mycroft's been giving me advice on how to do it since I was younger. It's simple but complicated for the average mind." John rolled his eyes. He never got used to it, unlike Molly. She stuck to her main purpose of being here. And it wasn't to punch the living hell out of Sherlock because he's _underrating_ her; it was to punch the living hell out of Sherlock because he needs to _know_ the truth.

His whole life is written out by the fob watch he had in the TARDIS. It is used to change every single cell in his body to shift it from timelord to human, she needs him to know that. By the way, TARDIS means Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. She had no idea, however, how Mycroft managed to do such thing. But she never heard, or proved, that Mycroft could erase things from his memory. But she has yet worse problems to worry about.

"Come on, Sherlock. We all know that's not true. Okay tell me, where did you get Redbeard?" Molly asked. The man looked at her, mortified. He was about to question how did she know about the dog, but his curiosity took over him. Where _did _he get Redbeard? He remembers owning the dog, and losing him. "Go on. Tell me. Which store, what street, which cage, Sherlock? Tell me!" Molly demanded. Both boys jumped from their seats.

"I don't know Molly; I was merely a child when I got him." He replied; his memories about the pet flooding back to him unexpectedly. All except for the location of where he got it. But now that he thought of it, they didn't feel real, as if they were downloaded in his brain but were memories of another.

"No, your dog died five years after you got him. You're twelve when he died. So that means, you were seven when you got him. You would know all about it!"

"I had to delete something!"

"Oh but you loved him. You would never forget such a memory!"

"Fine! I'll listen. But how will I guarantee that what you're saying is true?" He asked, finally giving in completely.

"I'll prove it to you."

**Author's Note: The info about Redbeard was completely shot in the dark. Like I said, if you like the plot but my writing sucks, help me! You could beta my story! Just message me if you're willing. **

**Mournstache**


End file.
